London, England
July 2016

It's a fool who plays it cool

George, it turns out, just loves living at Kensington Palace.

I tried to keep him inside at first, but he had other ideas. Barely three days after we moved, he found a half-open window to squeeze though and went exploring. Of course, I had a heart attack when I couldn't find him, but he sauntered back in that very evening, pleased as punch and with no consideration for my poor heart.

According to the gospel of George, he was always meant to live in a palace. He's been named for a king, so he should live like one – or at least that's what he thinks. I tried pointing out that the actual King George III never lived here, but he is of the opinion that it's about time that there's a King George at this palace and I guess I can't argue with that.

Of course, everyone just loves him, which doesn't do anything to dampen his already big head. Persis adores him and he loves that she's always willing to give him scritches and sneak him food. Ken's staff constructed his own little 'working space' at the office, which really consists of a cardboard box filled with comfy pillows and an extra-soft blanket. I also strongly suspect that at least five different desks are now stashed with a secret supply of Dreamies.

The tourists, naturally, adore him, too. If news of Ken and me being together again hadn't already broken by then, it would surely have been revealed when George first strolled through King's Gallery. He was recognised as my cat on the very first day and ever since, it has become a sort of sport to get photographs of him. Roisin, one of Ken's communications people, reported that there's even an Instagram page chronicling all the George sightings. I was little worried about his exposure at first, but museum staff assured me they always have a close eye on George whenever he is in the public area, which calmed me somewhat.

His new fans mean that I see less of my cat than ever. He comes back in the evenings, but spends most of his days being fussed over somewhere else. Thus, it's a rare occurrence that he cuddles up on the sofa with me for a lazy afternoon and when he does, I make the most of it. It's really too warm to sleep with a cat curled into a doughnut on my chest, but I'm sleepy and he's purring contentedly and anyway, if my chest is where the cat wants to sleep, there's nothing for me to do but to lie still and not disturb him.

George's purring reliably lulls me into a slumber and when I'm woken up again by the distinct feeling of being watched, the sun is a lot further down in the sky.

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice still scratchy from sleep.

Ken smiles affectionately. "Just past five."

He sits down on the edge of the sofa and reaches out to stroke first my cheek and then George's head. The cat cracks open an eye and yawns unashamedly.

"We slept for over an hour," I observe. George, obviously not deeming an hour long enough for a nap, closes his eye again and settles his head back on his paw. Not being able to resist, I extend a finger to boop his nose. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, intent on ignoring me.

I shift as much as I dare with George still settled heavily on my chest. My neck feels a little stiff and I can't quite feel my right leg from keeping it at an odd angle, but I still feel like I could fall right back asleep. With Ken softly stroking my hair and the warm sun playing over my face, I feel comfortable, cosy and completely safe.

"Where have you been?" I drawl, my eyes already fluttering shut again.

"Actually…" Ken pauses and his fingers stop stroking. I open my eyes, suddenly feeling more alert.

"Actually…" he begins again, "I've kind of been seeing someone."

That succeeds in waking me up. "Seeing someone?" I repeat, frowning. George, feeling the sudden tension in my body, raises his head to glare at me. Automatically, I reach out to try and placate him with ear scratches, but he already uncurls, arching his back upwards an digging his claws into my skin, clearly in retaliation for waking him up by not being relaxed anymore.

As George jumps down from the sofa and stalks off, I sit up, the better to look at Ken. He appears thoughtful, uncertain and a little sheepish.

"Who have you been seeing?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

Ken seems to have come to a decision, because his expression now shows resolve and it's only because I know him so well that I detect the nervousness he hides behind it. With a gentle smile, he stretches out his hand once more and lets his fingers trail over my face.

"The person I've been seeing…" Once more, he hesitates and draws a deep breath. "This person is my therapist."

And just like that, my mind is filled with all kinds of questions. There's so much I want to ask and so much I want to know, but despite the jumble his confession has turned my mind into, there's one thing I am absolutely sure of.

I can't get this wrong.

Reaching up to cover his hand with my own, I search his eyes for a long moment. "Does it help?"

Ken blinks. "What?"

Evidently, that was not the question he was expecting.

"Does it help?" I repeat.

"I… uh… yes," he answers. "Yes, it helps."

"Good," I reply simply and turn my head to press a kiss to the inside of his hand.

Ken still looks confused. "That's it?"

"That's it," I confirm, nodding.

"That's all you have to say?" he wants to know.

"That's all I have to say because it's all there is to say," I tell him, firmly but gently. "Or at least, it's all that matters. What I care about is that you're well. If seeing a therapist helps you be well, that's good. That's really all there is to it."

For several seconds, Ken stares at me, his expression showing both confusion and amazement. "You are a marvel," he finally announces. "You really don't have any more questions?"

"I'm a perfectly normal human and yes, I do have questions," I admit, smiling. "But they all depend on what you want to tell me. The thing is, I…"

I trail off, trying to bring order to my thoughts. After all, it's imperative that I get this right.

"You?" Ken encourages and if his voice shakes the slightest bit, it's barely noticeable.

I breathe in deeply, before letting go of that breath again. "I want you to know that there's nothing you can't talk to me about," I state slowly, looking down at my hands clenching and unclenching in my lap. "But at the same time, I realise that there are things you might feel more comfortable talking about with your therapist, at least for now. What I mean to say is that you can tell me everything, but there's no obligation to tell me everything. You only need to share what you truly want to share with me."

Another long, long moment passes as Ken gazes at me. I just start feeling a little uncomfortable when he suddenly leans forward to give me a kiss. "Truly a marvel," he murmurs against my lips and I feel his mouth curve into a smile.

Drawing back slightly, he nevertheless stays close enough to wrap both arms around me. "I appreciate that, I truly do," he tells me, "but I do want to tell you everything."

"I'm glad," I reply simply and mirror his smile with my own.

And I am glad. I would have respected and understood if he had decided that he wanted to keep some things between him and his therapist, but at the same time, I feel a sense of relief that he decided against it. I want to… I want to be as close as possible to him and I want him to know that he can rely on me, no matter what.

Shifting somewhat, I make space for him to properly sit next to me on the couch. When he does, I immediately scoot close to him, cuddling against his side and laying my head on his chest. His arms come up to wrap themselves tightly around me and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. "I love you," he murmurs into my hair.

"I love you," I echo, craning my neck upwards to smile at him.

He kisses me, softly and sweetly, before pulling my head back down against his chest. For several minutes, we sit in silence, all wrapped up in one another. I know he's thinking, so I just listen to his heartbeat and wait for him to be ready.

"I was… I was in a pretty bad state after you left," Ken finally begins, his voice quiet, his fingers trailing along my arm.

I try to twist around to look at him, wanting to apologise, but he gently holds my head in place and nuzzles his nose into my hair. "I'm not saying this to make you feel bad. It's only that it was the catalyst that started it all, so I don't know where else to begin."

"Were you angry at me? For leaving?" I ask, my voice a bit small.

"If anything, I was angry at myself for messing everything up so spectacularly," Ken answers and I can hear a touch of bitterness in his words. "I wasn't very good company in the weeks after you went back to Canada, that's for sure."

"I was worried about you," I admit. "I knew how awfully I was feeling but at least I had my friends and family to rally around. I wasn't sure… I wasn't sure whether you'd allow people to help you, too."

Ken laughs tonelessly. "I don't have a very good track record of accepting help, you mean?"

"Well…" I hesitate. "No, not really."

"No, not really," agrees Ken. "And you were right to worry. I didn't… I didn't really let anyone help me, at least not at first. They tried, but… I didn't let them get through to me, which yes, is absolutely part of the problem. At some point, someone even got desperate enough to anonymously sneak me those photos. I think whoever did it hoped that seeing them would make me snap out of it. I'm suspecting Weatherfield. It's his kind of twisted logic."

He says it all very conversationally, a little pensively, but at the mention of photos, I feel myself grow stiff. Could it be…?

"What kind of photos?" I want to know, my voice not sounding quite like my own.

"Of you and that Sam fellow in front of some hotel," Ken answers matter-of-factly. "The time stamp dated them to July last year."

I knew, of course, which photos he meant, the very time he mentioned them. But hearing him say it makes my blood run cold. Again, I try to sit up, but Ken keeps his arms wrapped around me and his cheek lying on the top of my head, quite as if those photos didn't mean anything at all.

"It wasn't… it wasn't anything," I assure him, clenching my hands into fist and staring ahead. "It wasn't… He was only ever a friend. It was the day Blacky died and Persis was in hospital and I just felt so awful. He came and he comforted me and I was grateful for it. But that was everything there was to it. There was never anything between us. I didn't have any contact with him at all after that interview either. Nothing ever happened with Sam."

Ken hums quietly. "Yes, I know."

This time, I sit up so abruptly that he has no chance but to let me go. "How? How can you –?"

"Because I trust you," he replies simply. "And because I know you."

I stare at him, trying to read his thoughts. I don't understand how he can be so calm about this. I've seen those pictures. I know what they look like without context.

"You were crying," Ken adds. "In the photos, you were crying."

"I was," I confirm slowly. "But how could you tell? You can barely see my face in most of the pictures!"

"I could see it in the way you held yourself," Ken explains, shrugging. "You draw up your shoulders when you cry and pull your head down, like you want to be smaller, somehow."

"I… I didn't know… I didn't know I did that," I stammer.

Ken reaches out to brush the back of his hand against my cheek. "But I know. I took one look at the pictures and knew you were crying. I also knew it was the day Persis was hospitalised. It was a question of putting two and two together."

"But how did you know…" I swallow heavily. "How you could you be sure that the photos showed everything?"

"How did I know the comforting stopped at a hug?" Ken asks, raising both eyebrows.

I nod silently.

"That's because I trust you," he states. "I know we had issues and I know I had failed you, but I never doubted you."

"I promised," I tell him quietly. "I promised I wouldn't…"

"Yes." He nods. "And I trusted in that promise. I still do."

Impulsively, I reach forward to wrap my arms around his neck and burrow my face against his shoulder. He returns the embrace immediately, holding me close and kissing my temple.

"I knew though," I admit, voice muffled by his shirt. "I knew he had feelings for me. I should have… I should never have let it get this far. And I…"

I trail off, not wanting to say what I have to say, but also not wanting to keep any secrets from him. He told me he wanted me to know everything and I want to return the faith he has in me, even if it's hard.

"I considered kissing him," I continue, so quietly I almost don't hear it myself. "That evening, when he came to see me, I considered kissing him. Not because I loved him or even because I saw more than a friend in him, but… I was so angry at you for leaving and I felt so lonely and… I would have been an easy way out. I couldn't see my life ever being simple again and this… this would have been easy."

While I speak, I can feel a shudder run through Ken, but he doesn't move away or even loosen his embrace. If possible, he even draws me a little closer. "But you didn't. You had an opportunity and you didn't take it."

"No," I whisper. "Because I promised and because I love you. I was so angry at you, but I… I never stopped loving you, not even after we broke up."

"Me neither," Ken replies, lightly brushing his nose against my temple.

Raising my head, I search his gaze. "Not even when I was so cruel to you after you returned from Cyprus?"

"You were hurt." He shrugs.

"I was selfish," I correct. "I never… I was so caught in my own anger, pain and confusion that I never stopped to think about what you felt like."

"And I was selfish for leaving," he points out. "We both didn't do a good job of recognising what we were doing to the other one."

"No, we didn't," I agree, intuitively snuggling closer to him again as if the physical contact can prevent the emotional distance from widening again. "I also should have considered it when I left last year. I knew it would hurt you, but I –"

Putting a finger to my lips, Ken interrupts me. "I told you, I don't want you to feel bad for that. I hated that you left, but I understood it, at least after a while. And even if I hadn't… I never wanted you to stay out of pity or responsibility. I never wanted your unhappiness."

"The irony is that I made myself unhappy by leaving." I smile wryly. "And I made you unhappy, too."

"I can't pretend that I dealt with it very well. I was…" He pauses for a moment, then snorts suddenly, as if remembering something. "Did I tell you I nearly punched a reporter?"

"You did what?" My voice nearly trips over itself in surprise.

Ken twists his mouth into a lop-sided smile. "Yeah. It wasn't my proudest moment, but… he said something to provoke me and I… I just saw red, I think."

"But you didn't really punch him, did you?" I clarify, eyeing him a little uncertainly.

He shakes his head. "No, Hanson was there in time to drag me away. Afterwards, they made sure to keep the press corps at a considerable distance to me for a few weeks."

Resting my head on his shoulder again, I absent-mindedly draw little circles around the buttons of his shirt as I consider what I just head. "What did he say?" I want to know. "To provoke you, I mean."

"Something I don't care to repeat." There's a sudden tenseness in his shoulders and a sudden tightness in his voice, telling me that the memory alone is still enough to provoke a reaction.

"Was it…" I hesitate. "Was it something about me?"

He nods curtly, staring at some point in the distance. It's only when I reach up to stroke his face that he looks back down again, his eyes softening.

"When Dad was told about the reporter, he asked me to come to his office," he tells me, gently weaving his fingers through my hair. "I thought he'd be mad, but he seemed to… he almost seemed to understand. It was that day when he suggested making the article happen. I don't know if you've even seen it, but…"

"I did see it," I assure quickly. "I saw it and it meant a lot to me."

"I can't claim much credit for it, I'm afraid," Ken admits. "It was Dad's idea and he was the one who masterminded it. Mum helped and Persis and Ted as well. There were also all of the people who agreed to give quotes. Me… I agreed with what they did and I was really glad they were doing it, but I wasn't in much of a state to really contribute something myself."

"You did the interview," I point out. "That was… that was incredibly important. It made me realise that I wasn't the only one… I realised that you still loved me, too. It had been months and I thought you might have … fallen out of love with me. The interview made me see that you hadn't."

Ken snorts with laughter. "Fallen out of love with you? What a ridiculous thought!"

"It is, isn't it?" I ask, smiling wryly. "But even if you had… I saw the interview and it was the first time that I thought you were… looking better."

"Were you internet-stalking me?" he teases, raising both eyebrows comically.

I lightly hit a hand against his chest. "I was worried about you!" I correct, a little indignant. "I was worried and I was looking at pictures of you on the internet to gauge how you were doing."

He sighs, suddenly a little wistful. "At least you had that. I could only stare at old pictures of you or blurry paparazzi shots and wonder how you were doing. Otto tried to make me stop, but I'm afraid I just did it in secret."

Yes, just like I was internet-stalking him secretly, because I knew no-one would have approved of it. But I don't say that out loud. Instead, I ask, "Otto?"

"My therapist," Ken explains. "He's from Vienna originally."

"How very Freudian," I remark drily.

He grins. "I'm sure he's never heard that one before."

This time, he catches my hand before I can hit him again. Raising it to his lips, he kisses all my fingertips before enveloping my hand with his own.

"Otto…" I draw out the foreign-sounding name thoughtfully. "He's helped you, yes?"

"He did help me, at lot," Ken confirms. "It was Mum's suggestion originally that I go and get help. The first time she brought it up, I'm afraid I stormed out of the room, but… she was surprisingly persistent. She never lost her temper, no matter how mad I got, but she kept mentioning it regularly and eventually…"

"She wore you down?" I suggest when he trails off.

"In a way, I think she did," he agrees. "She reminded me that she knew how it felt and that she knew how hard it was to accept help, but that eventually, help had made her feel better and it might make me feel better, too. In the end, I think I agreed out of sheer desperation. That doesn't mean I was a very good client for Otto at first though. I was moody and angry and kept telling him I didn't need any help at all."

"Poor Otto," I commiserate with the absent therapist.

Ken laughs. "Poor Otto, indeed. He's a saint though. Regardless of how much I railed against everything, he just kept his cool and carried on doing what he was doing. With time, I got calmer and gradually, we started working on… well, everything, I guess."

"Everything?" I echo quizzically.

"Losing you was the catalyst and it was a big part of what I needed to work through, but…" He pauses and frowns, obviously trying to organise his thoughts. "It definitely wasn't everything though. At first, I thought that I only needed to get over you to be well again – as if that was so easy! – but Otto made me see that there were a whole lot of issues I'd been suppressing for far too long."

Yeah, no kidding.

I don't say anything though, merely squeezing his hand and stretching to brush my lips against the corner of his mouth. Ken smiles and bumps his nose against mine affectionately.

"Once I started talking to Otto, there was no stopping it anymore," he continues pensively. "We looked all the way back to my childhood, to how it felt with Dad working all the time and Mum ill and my grandmother telling me I had a duty to my family… none of them meant any harm, but it was…" He trails off

"A perfect storm?" I suggest quietly.

Ken nods. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it. It was a perfect storm and it meant that right from the word Go, I convinced myself I could rely on no-one but myself. That is…" He pauses and taps a finger against my nose. "That is until you stumbled into my life. I still don't know how you did it, but somehow, you made everything brighter and you made me… you made me trust in another person again."

"And then I left," I add, cringing slightly.

His lips twist into a humourless smile. "Yeah. That was… that brought a lot of those old feelings to the surface. I won't lie about that. Loneliness, abandonment, rejection… let's just say Freud would have had a field day with it. Otto certainly did."

The thought alone makes my heart clench. "I'm sor–"

Shaking his head, he cuts me off. "No. These are my issue and they aren't your responsibility. I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back again and to have your love and support, but that doesn't mean you have to shoulder all of my problems. That's not your job and I don't want it to be. God knows I relied on you too much already when Dad was so ill."

"I wanted to help," I immediately assure. "I was glad I could help."

"And I was glad to have you there with me," Ken replies. "But I also know that I asked too much of you. We all did. We watched our world fall apart and instead of doing something about it, we just relied on you to hold it together. That wasn't fair on you."

"I told you I'd always be there," I insist. "I told you that you could rely on me. What's more, I want you to rely on me. We're a team, aren't we? And being a team also means that we lean on each other, especially if one of us is not feeling well."

"Yes, I agree." Ken nods, his eyes holding mine. "But I also realised that I can't ask you to carry everything on your own. One day, Dad will be ill again and when that happens, I can't lose it the way I did. I know I can rely on you to be there when it happens, but I owe it to you and I owe it to myself not to fall apart again. Being a team means facing problems together, not that one person faces double the problems on their own."

I want to protest, to tell him that it doesn't matter and that I will gladly carry whatever burden is necessary to make him feel better, but the moment I open my mouth, he shakes his head and leans forward to give me a soft kiss.

"Don't," he asks quietly, his lips moving against mine. "I know and I love you for it. For that and for a myriad of other things that I can't even begin to count. But let me say this, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper back. But before I let him speak, I reach up to slide a hand over the back of his neck and pull him to me for another kiss, longer this one, but no less loving.

When we've parted again, Ken keeps his eyes closed, leaning his forehead against mine. "After you went back to Canada and Dad was transferred to rehab, I made sure that Mum and Ted and Persis were settled and checked myself into a clinic," he tells me, his voice very sure but his eyes still closed. "I knew I needed time and space to deal with the previous weeks and it couldn't get that at home."

"Did it help?" I ask, repeating my words from earlier. (It feels like a lifetime ago.)

Ken opens his eyes and smiles at me. "It helped. It really, really helped. It was also why I didn't come see you sooner though. I wanted to go to you right away, but… I knew it wouldn't be fair. I knew that if I didn't deal with all of this before, I'd forever make you carry too much of the burden and that wouldn't be fair on either of us. I needed to get better for real, not just because you fended off my demons. I had to get better before coming to you."

"And you did get better." This time, it's not a question.

"I did," he answers anyway. "I was in the clinic for three weeks and we tackled everything Dad's illness meant to me and why the thought of him dying caused me to be so paralysed with fear. I think… think I'm better prepared for, you know, next time it happens, whenever that will be. It still needs work though, which is why I'm still seeing Otto. Right now, we're…" He pauses, his eyes flitting to the side before settling back on my face. "Right now, we're talking a lot about Cyprus and… Iraq."

A muscle twitches near his jaw and I gently stroke a fingertip along his jawline. "I never asked you about that," I remark quietly. "I should have known it wouldn't be… that it can't be easy for you, but I… I never asked."

"I wouldn't have told you," Ken replies. "I couldn't admit it, after all my foolish talk about war being no big deal. I couldn't admit it to you and I couldn't admit it to myself."

"Was it… very bad?" I ask haltingly.

For a long moment, Ken remains quiet, his gaze becoming unfocused. I sit very still, waiting until he turns back to me, his eyes now clear and unclouded, but also full of pain. "I killed people. I killed other humans. That's something I have to live with."

To hear him say it so directly makes my heart clench. He's hurt and I can feel that pain as if it were my own. I don't try to hide it either, keeping my expression open and without any guard. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Do you want to hear it?" he asks. "It's… not pretty. It hurts."

"I want to hear everything," I assert, feeling absolutely sure of it. "I want to hear everything, even if it hurts. Maybe especially if it hurts."

For a long moment, we just look at each other, Ken's eyes searching my face and me meeting his gaze steadily and full of certainty. Finally, he nods, the tiniest of moments. I shift us both, so that it's no longer my head pillowed on his shoulder but his cradled against mine. Reaching forward, I spread a blanket over both of us. His arms wrap around my waist and I gently stroke the back of his neck, resting my cheek against his hair.

And that's how we stay, for an hour or maybe three, wrapped up as closely as possible and not moving much at all, while Ken does, indeed, tell me everything.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Hey Jude' (written by Paul McCartney, released by The Beatles in 1968).


To AnneShirley:
You're not late, you're
fashionable! You post your review when it makes the best entrance ;).
Selwyn would have been a seriously odd name, right? I mean, Ken sounds weird to our normal ears because of a certain tanned, grinning doll, but at least it's a proper given name. Selwyn, on the other hand... Let's just say it was a good decision on LMM's part to pick Persis to honour that side of the family
The way people continously try to find out the identity of Elena Ferante despite her wish to remain anonymous is just disrespectful! She made an informed decision to remain anonymous and that should be respected, I think. Plus, all those people claiming it's really a man writing under a women's name just don't want to believe that women can write well!
Writing large gatherings was something I had to learn for this story, so I'm quite chuffed that you think I do well with it! I still remember how out of my depth I was when writing the very first ingleside Christmas chapter that you mentioned. We've come a long way since then!
I'be read TBaQ (and TRtY, back when it was all we had) and while the Blythe references were bordering on being irritating, I enjoyed the short stories themselves. It's been quite a while since I picked up either book though. Maybe I should make 'The Twins Pretend' tonight's bedtime story to myself? (And the cat, naturally. Always the cat.)
I could imagine that my royal family is a little less expensive than the current royals. I kept mine smaller by giving Owen no cousins, so that eliminated all the Kents and Gloucesters running around in real life. Also, Leslie's father was very well-off and most of that money went to Ken, so whenever these royals want to splurge, they have funds to use that the public don't pay for and have no jurisdiction over.
Broderie Anglaise is pretty, isn't it? Actually, I do like a nice bit of well-applied lace in general. It's a fine line to walk between 'pretty' and 'kitschy' with lace, but when done right, it can be very elegant!
I'm glad to hear that Carl's activism rings true to you. I think it probably needs both types - those that put pressure on authorities from the outside and those that work to improve the situation from within the system. What you say about the women going back to university to become a lawyer and defend those that otherwise don't get a voice is truly impressive and remarkable! Your girlfriend also sounds like she's very dedicated with a clear goal in front of her. I have my fingers crossed it all works out as planned!